Be Right Back

The morning sun wakes up the birds
My heavy eyelids begin to stir

The alarm sounds off at the seventh hour
I wipe away the sleep to see Matt Lauer

The bed is soft and hugs me in it
My bladder won’t wait one more minute

I wash my hair and toes and hips
My cat waits for some shower drips

I wrap my hair up like a snail
And head to the office to check my mail

I read the internets and update Face book
Then head to the kitchen to find something to cook

I eat some eggs and bacon at the table
then pack a lunch and wash the dishes if I’m able

Off to the bedroom to blow dry and dress
Picking out clothing makes my bedroom a mess

I rush around to finish getting pretty
I grab my cell phone and kiss goodbye to my kitty

With my purse and gym bag, I head for the car
It’s a good thing my office is not very far

I pull up in the lot just after nine thirty
Lock my car and off to my desk I scurry

But the moral, my lovelies, is more of a warning
For those of you that rush in the morning

No matter how much you look at your watch
You should always, always...


glance down at your crotch.

Violent children's books make for a great Christmas

When I was in sixth grade I had the lead in our school’s Christmas program. The program was a reenactment of the popular children’s book “Drummer Hoff.” Apparently, either the character was vaguely written or my looks were ambiguous enough to pull off the role. Anywho, it's like a military potluck - everybody brings something to the war party. Throughout the book we're reminded of exactly who fires if off. I wore a big tall hat and had a drum (no actual drumming skills required) and marched a lot. Man my mom was proud.

Corporal Farrell brings the barrel
Captain Bammer brings the rammer
Sergeant Chowder brings the powder (gun not cocaine)
Major Scott brings the shot
General Border gives the order
Drummer Hoff… fires it off.

I'm partial to chowder, but that's just me. I hope this holdiay brings you good cheer, family, and lots of spiked egg nog. Oh, and hit that piggy pudding! Don't go until you get some and bring it right here!

Signing off,
Drummer Hoff

I don't care how good the tomatoes are!

**breaking news**
I just went to the bathroom at work. And although I know you are on the edge of your seats to know the juicy details of my trip [ew.], so that we can still be friends, I will highlight only one detail.

there.was.a.girl.sitting.on.the.pot.talking.on.her.cell.phone.

I walk in, shut the stall door, check the seat for mess, unzip pants, squat and pray that my thighs hold out... then I hear... "mmm I like the tomatoes on top."

What!? At first I thought this freak of nature was talking to me, so I stayed super quiet and then realized she was in fact talking on her phone. I tried to be even quieter and tried to pee in silence, because EVEN I'M EMBARRASSED FOR THE OTHER PERSON ON THE LINE TO HEAR ME TINKLE!!

"Yeah we can't wait to see you guys" [pssssssssssssss]
"Nathan loved his birthday" [fart] "present" [plop, plop]

YES, yes she did!! She farted and poohed all the while talking on the phone. She was also SITTING ON A PUBLIC TOILET because there is no way you can hoover AND talk on the phone that long!

Please please help me stop this behavior! I might even have to create a facebook group entitled, "No one should talk on their cell phone while using a public toilet!"

It's a good thing the bus ran late. A damn good thing.

This morning I opened the window in the bathroom to let out some of my steamy shower steam [Yes, I remembered to close the window thank you]. But while it was open I smelled outside. Yes, you read me; I pressed my medium sized nose up against the dirty black screen and smelled the outside air. I also didn’t have a top on so the kids waiting across the street for the bus dropped their pop tarts. [P.S. There are NEVER kids waiting for the bus when I am trying to smell out the window in the morning so schools must still be delayed from the storm/wind/power outages.]

Anyway, today as I breathed in the September air and saw all of the dew drops on the grass I thought about my elementary school bus stop. The air smelled just like it did back then when I would put on my fall jacket, you know the one that your mom makes you wear because it’s chilly in the morning and then you crumple it up and shove it in your backpack with your popsicle-stick-art for the bus ride home because you are sweating your name tag off. So, I would have my jacket on, and my lunch box and … my brother. We’d walk down to the end of the street – just far enough so my mom couldn’t see us – and we’d stand for about ten minutes while the other kids taught us curse words. I’m pretty sure that’s where I learned the words Da*n, Bi&*%, C&nt, Di@$, A$$ hole, and S&*t face [but I already knew the words face and hole, so it was just the combinations thereof.] Sometimes there was this mean girl called Melissa, who would rough me up. Man was she trashy. Anyway, it was pretty clear that these were not words for civilized kids to use in every day conversation [my brother didn't get this memo and although he never used the words correctly in a sentence, he was usually grounded anyway] so I tucked them into my vocabulary brain bank for a rainy day or when I wanted to impress a boy on the playground [I didn't have breast buds yet.] I would even practice writing them. Sometimes, since my spelling was poor and asking was out of the question, I would practice the word dic in perfect D’nealian on a clean piece of lined paper. Once I filled the page, I'd then crumple it up and tuck it into my-little-pony backpack until I found a public trash can to throw it away in.


I guess this was kind of like that kid in the movie Super Bad who draws pictures of Di*&’s in class – which were actually quite good. When DH was a teacher, he had a kid in his class who also liked to draw the male genitals and DH said the kid wasn’t good at much else so he might as well encourage his artistic abilities. I learned there is a new term for this skill, coined from the movie and subsequent book. I hear it’s an up and cuming major.

phal*lo*graph*ics (fa'lo graf'iks), n. The pictorial representation of a phallus, or a depiction relating to or resembling a phallus.

Either I have a monster in my kitchen or I'm completely crazy.

Last night was a very good [bad] night. The gym was closed due to a power outage so I didn’t have to teach cycling [aka get paid to burn 500+ calories]. “Lazy bum” status kicked in immediately. Husband and I collapsed on the couch as soon as we got home with no ideas for dinner. We decided to go to BW3’s – in a little while. We watched the last horrible 45 minutes of Baby Mama while we waited for Heidi to arrive.

[Note to self: Do not go to BW3s on Monday Night. There is a thing called Monday Night Football that apparently causes long waits for tables and food, people in jerseys, and LOTS of yelling.]

We got hungry while waiting for our table so we walked over to Skyline [Ew!] where we encountered lots of neglected hot dogs. PILES of hot dogs people! Unattended! Here is the evidence:


Anyway, this is what we consumed last night:
Skyline chili cheese dogs
Onion rings
Mozzarella sticks
Nachos
Teriyaki Boneless wings
Sweet BBQ Bone-in wings
Mild Bone-in wings
Potato wedges w/cheese
Celery and ranch dressing
Hot fudge sundae with extra fudge [sub chocolate milkshake for H]

I think according to weight watchers we ate 120,000 calories. Michel Phelps would be proud and now I am large enough to audition for Big Mama's House 4.

Baby Mama Movie Review: There were a few LOL moments and Tina Fey, Amy Poehler and Steve Martin are hilarious actors - but this movie kinda sucks. There were some funny/redeeming quotes:

Steve Martin: Congratulations, Kate. I want to reward you with five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact.

Tina Fey: I overreacted earlier. I'm sorry... [exits]
Amy Poehler: I'm sorry I farted into your purse...

Amy Poehler: [as she enters the hospital, about to go into labor] It feels like I'm shitting a knife!

Oh and Sigourney Weaver is terrible in it. Actually - every time I see her in something I think of the ending sequence to Ghost Busters where Dana Barrett is a demon and how horrible that dress was. I think she should have halted her acting career after that movie. Ew.

this is fun, let's do it some more!

I keep trying to think of times in my life when I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed most recently, at my bridal shower when my mom made a crude reference to my labia ["lips" as she likes to call them] Why, you ask? Why on earth was your mother talking to your friends about your vaginal anatomy... AT YOUR BRIDAL SHOWER? The answer is...I don't know. She also told them I would most likely "look like a slut" in my wedding make-up. I also don't know why she kept saying "Fuck a duck" during the tea party. I love my Mom, sometimes more than others.

Speaking of my mom, [I 100% totally love my mom BTW] the first Valentine's Day that DH and I were together, my family attended my brother's wrestling match [romantic, I know]. Afterwards, we all went to a sports bar and my entire family got sloshed. I was sober and had to stay to drive them home. Prior to this outing, I must have made the [HUGE] mistake of eluding to the fact that DH was "well endowed" in front of my mother [Hands off ladies!]. Just as a side note, when my mom gets drunk she slurs this phrase repeatedly, "THAT's what IIII'm talkin' about" Well, my mom must have had two fruity drinks with trace amounts of alcohol, rendering her drunk as a skunk. She proceeded to ask DH [at the time VERY new boyfriend] to unveil his goods. Yes folks, she asked him [begged him loudly actually] to "see what all the fuss was about" because "she heard it was huge" Meanwhile repeating her choice drunken phrase over and over again. The level of my own embarrassment cannot overshadow that of HIS EMBARRASSMENT. Not to mention, at one point him looking over at me like, "What the hell, should I just show it to her and be done?" OMG NO. The fact that he is now my husband made that last choice, indeed the correct one.

I do remember one of the times when my first born naivete caused me complete embarrassment.

Scene: Cute little red-haired girl [who has not yet sprouted a single breast bud] sits in her 8th grade health class during "sexual education day"- eagerly awaiting a question she actually knows the answer to.

Teacher: Can anyone tell me what oral sex is?
Me: [hand whipping furiously in the air] I know! I know!
Teacher: Yes, Miss Hansen.
Me: It's phone sex!
[class laughing widly]
Boy three rows back: No idiot, haven't you ever heard of 69!
Me: ....

I think I cried after class that day. I also cursed my parents for my first born status and envied all of the other kids who had older brothers and sisters who told them all about the dirty stuff in life. And as a matter a fact I had to go home and ask my poor mother what 69 was. In my defense, 69 is a very specific kind of oral sex AND AND telephone sex IS a form of "oral" sex. Neither of which happened to be what the teacher was looking for. He should have yelled "BJ" and although I still wouldn't have known what that was, it would have been closer to the correct answer.

This also reminds me of the time when I was riding the bus home in fourth grade with my new bob haircut.

Mean portly girl in the back of the bus: Dike! Dike! You look like a Dike!
Me: Whatever, I do not look like a canal or waterway!
Mean portly girl in the back of the bus: HAHAHAHA! DUMB DIKE!

(later)
Me: Mom, I've been reflecting on something that happened on the bus today.
Mom: Sure sweetie, tell me what it is. Was that Melissa girl picking on you again?
Me: Well, I'm not sure. She just keep calling me a canal or waterway...
Mom: What? Is that what she said?
Me: Yes, she said Dike! Dike! I looked it up.
Mom: Oh..well..um. hmm... What a mean girl. Do you want me to call the school again?
Me: No, she tripped me at the bust stop last time you called. Don't worry about it.

There are some things you never ever share with people

So The Collective is doing embarrassing moments this week. I have a few so I thought I’d share. Sharing embarrassing things makes them less embarrassing in a way. Right?

Scene 1: Calculus II unnamed university in Ohio.

Gorgeously attractive college student oversleeps during afternoon nap [college was so awesome!] Calculus II starts in 7 minutes and the policy is if you’re late for class, attendance doesn’t count, neither does your homework. Backpack is hanging on the back of a chair along with some odd and sundry clothing items. Girl grabs backpack and runs to class, breaking through large hordes of students on the way. She arrives at class with a minute to spare and shrugs off her back pack. Girl notices something in her peripheral vision, but is happy to be counted for attendance credit.

Boy three rows back: Um…hey! Hey! Is this yours?
[lots of giggling in the classroom]
Me: I wonder who that guy is yelling at, he better be quiet, class is starting.
Boy three rows back: Hey you, red haired girl, is this your BRA?
Me: What? Bra? Um..
[looking back to see MY 36C cup from Victoria Secret spinning from his index finger]
Me: [omg, omg, deny it, just deny it. No, that bra costs $40!]
Me: Yes, [outstretched hand] well, it’s my roommate’s.
[Good, throw her ass under the bus, she drank the last frappuccino.]
Boy three rows back: [flings it, slingshot style] Wow, its huge!
Me: I’ll tell her you think so.
Me: [Omg, how many people saw that bra flying from my backpack on the way here. I need to transfer.]

Moral of the story: Don’t hang your bras in the same place you hang your backpack.

Scene 2: Calculus II unnamed university in Ohio.

Gorgeously attractive student returns to school after gallbladder-ectomy with instructions from her doctor to eat normally but try to avoid fats. Girl arrives in the school cafeteria, wondering how to possibly avoid fats. Eats lunch, and realizes she is going to be late for Calculus II and the policy is if you’re late for class, attendance doesn’t count. While walking to class girl feels rumblings in the tummy. More walking, more rumblings. Walking faster, wow, rumbling mania.

Internal dialog:
Girl: I will just toot a little; let some of this painful gas out.
[toot, toot…toot]
Girl: Okay that was good, just keep walking
[toots, toot, ….squirt!]
Girl: Umm. That felt wet. I think pooed a little…
Girl: [running] just get to the bathroom, get to the bathroom
Girl: OMG, its everywhere! Okay, you can still make it to class. Just shove some toilet paper in there and pull your shirt down over it.

Arrives at class just in time:
Me: [okay safe, I can sit here for 50 minutes, then take care of this. No one even noticed.]
Boy three rows back: Ew. What’s that smell?
Me: [looking around to see if anyone is staring at me]
Boy three rows back: Ew. Does anyone smell that? It’s like shit or something?
Me: [points to the girl in front of me and whispers] Yeah, I think it’s her, be nice. She can’t help it.

Moral of the story: When your tummy hurts that bad, it's never JUST a fart.
Moral of the story: Sometimes, jeans just need to be thrown away.
Moral of the story: Actually, just don't take Calculus.

Why I am for sure going to hell:
The girl I blamed it on lived on my hall. I was actually friends with her, although she HATED bathing. She did love wolves though. Anyway, she died in a car wreck that year. I never told her I blamed my shit stink on her. She sees me from heaven now and wants to punch me in the face. True story.